


Vicious

by SeasInkarnadine



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: College AU, F/F, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I've been told this is cathartic, Sexual Assault, modern day AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 16:39:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19009678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeasInkarnadine/pseuds/SeasInkarnadine
Summary: Catra gets a drunk call at 2 AM.





	Vicious

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE HEED THE TRIGGER WARNINGS.  
> Please exercise caution while reading, and understand that it is a work of fiction and not meant to represent a real world scenario with any accuracy.  
> You can yell at me on tumblr at SeasInkarnadine.

**2.04 AM Incoming call: NOT WORTH IT**  
She’s especially pissed because she has goddamn insomnia and she has to be up early tomorrow morning and she had for once actually managed to fall asleep but the awful buzzing of her damn phone woke her up and it’s not even somebody important, it’s–

She lays on her side and turns the phone towards her face, the blue light stinging her eyes. She shouldn’t answer. She’s so mad. There would be more justice in ignoring the call.

But she’s never been one for passive retaliation.

She gets as far as “Why the FUCK–” when she cuts herself off. There’s a breathy little sobbing noise coming from the receiver.

“Catra?” She slurs her name. There’s a hitch in her breath. It’s loud, wherever she is. There are overlapping voices muffled in the background. “Catra…I…there’s…some’s wrong.”

She wants to be vicious. She wants to be biting and cold and cruel and it’s so EASY, normally. It’s like breathing and walking. Anger and hurt are friends she’s held close to her chest for her entire life. She wants them. But at the sound of that broken voice they abandon her. All that’s left is something indescribable that’s raw and _aching._

“Where are you?”

 _“_ I….ahdunno. Idaho. Hehe. I the ho.”

“Who’s with you? Do you see Glimmer or Bow?” She’s so worried about Adora she doesn’t even remember to say their names wrong.

“No, no, I c'mere b m’self….ahsee…theeereesss….Loook? Luke.” Who the fuck is Luke.

In the background she hears shouts of delight and celebration. ‘Alpha—’ Beta? Omega? Fucking greek houses, they all sound the same.

“Are you at a frat house party?”

“I’m at a…a…pdyeah. Missoo. You. Miss you. Catra?” It comes out as ‘cahra’ because of her drunken slur. “What happen? T’us? When’d….when did other people b’come…more…when’d things start to matter more’n us?” God, if she had an easy answer to that one she wouldn’t have Adora’s name typed as ‘NOT WORTH IT’ in her phone.

“Hang on just a sec, Adora,” she says, removing the phone that’s otherwise been glued to her ear so that she can toss a tank top over her skinny frame. “Okay I’m back. You with me?” She grabs her keys from the bowl by the door.

“Catraaaaaaaaaa! You’re here! You’re…nodeere, I mn…you’re aaa…here.” No. What the fuck does that mean. “Wheres Glim?” As if Catra has ANY fucking clue. As if asking that under normal circumstances wouldn’t rip Catra’s still beating heart out of her chest and grind it under the wheels of a semi truck. But these are not normal circumstances.

“Do you have Glimmer’s number? Or Bow’s?” She only asks because they might have a better idea than Catra does. She gets the feeling she won’t have time to search all 8 houses on frat row before Adora…before who even knows.

“I can looook? Check m phone… godda hang up tho…”

“NO, Christ, okay, don’t hang up, I’m coming.” She gets the feeling that Adora is not articulate enough to navigate her phone for anyone else’s number. It’s like her thoughts are jello sliding off a hot car.

She races down the steps of her building and clambers into her jeep, phone still pinned between her shoulder and head.

“Cahra this guyyy wanna play pong wi’me…godda gooo…I…hesay…showme somthn? ohhh he says youre heereee!” She giggles. “In…where? Sh’supstars? up? Hahaha yeaaaah…”

“Adora? Adora? Do NOT go upstairs! Stay with the other people! Adora!” Jesus christ on a pogo stick. She blows through a redlight and someone honks at her but she barely notices.

“Gonn be otherpeople! you! people! You’re m’people, Cahra. You’re m….safe. Home. You’re always …m’home. Oh!”

There’s some shuffling, a brush of static over the receiver.

“Hi, this is Luke. Adora is pretty fucked up, so, I’m gonna take her back to her dorm.”

“Alpha Si Zeta!” Someone yells. Alpha Si Zeta. Alpha Si Zeta.

“Don’t you FUCKING TOUCH HER you FUCKER I’ll pull out your goddamn entrails and–” He hangs up.

She drops her phone and floors the accelerator. She has to get there. She can’t be too late. She won’t be.

\---

**4:33 AM**

The engine rumbles quietly beneath her. Top 40 plays through her staticky speakers, the vents for the climate control system rattle every time she goes over a bump in the road. Adora rests silently in the passenger side, head tilted back against the door, eyes closed. She'll have a killer neck ache when she wakes up. The jeep rolls to a gentle stop at a traffic light. They are both awash in red. There's… Catra reaches over to brush a stand of hair from Adora’s face. She's careful not to transfer any blood from her knuckles.

"You're okay." She tells herself, ignoring the way her hands shake as she puts them back on the steering wheel. You're okay. She's okay.

\---

**2:16 AM**

The tires of her vehicle tear up the grass on the front lawn of the frat house. She comes dangerously close to running over a guy who trips trying to escape the path of her vehicle. She doesn't care.

There’s a sweatshirt in her passenger seat. She throws it on before storming out (it’s October, it’s fucking freezing).

She leaves her car parked there, door open, lights on.

When she gets to the frat house, the door isn't locked. it isn't even latched shut the whole way. That doesn't stop her from kicking it in.

The party is in full swing. She isn't sure which pounds louder: the music in her ears or the blood in her veins.

“ADORA!” She yells, which is stupid because nothing can be heard over all this fucking NOISE. She sees the stairs directly ahead of her. Well, somewhat directly. There are obstacles in her path. Lots of fleshy boney hairy obstacles.

Catra hates touching other people

She dives in without hesitation.

There are so many people it’s like she’s swimming in an ocean. Except the water has solid form that she can punch and kick at when it doesn’t move as fast as she wants. Someone tries to retaliate by swinging at her but she ducks their blow and slips away. This place is stupidly packed.  
  
She takes the stairs two at a time.

“ADORA!” She hollers again, so loud it makes her voice catch and her throat ache. There are fewer people up here, thank God. There are not, however, fewer rooms. The first one she tries is the laundry room. Nothing save a few human dudes and a satyr girl sitting on top of some washing machines, drinking and chatting.

“Adora?”

“Who?”

“Blonde girl, human, stupid ripped, probably wasted--”

“Was she with someone?"

“Some guy named Luke.”

“He’s at the end of the hall, around that way.” One of the guys points. “Is everything okay?” But she’s already gone.

\---

**4:40 AM**

She parks her jeep and kills the engine. Looks over at Adora for a moment, comforts herself by watching with the steady in-out, in-out of her breath.

Catra gets out of her car and goes around to Adora’s side. Unbuckles her seatbelt.

“Caaaaaachhraaa?” She is super out of it. “Whashapp--” she hiccups. “Nin’?” The doctors said she would be confused for a while longer.

“We’re at my apartment.” She explains gently.

Catra slides her arms underneath her legs and back, picking Adora up bridal style. There’s a little yelp of pain when she slides her out of her seat and Catra’s heart threatens to rip itself out from between her ribs.

“Hurt,” Adora whines in a voice Catra has never heard before.

“I know, baby, I know, we’re almost home. I’ve got you.” In the daylight hours she would rather chew off her own arm without anesthetic than risk anyone hearing those words. In the daylight she would never even consider them.

It’s not daylight.

Adora isn’t anyone.

\---

**2:19 AM**

There are two doors at the end of the hall. Neither has a name on them. Fuck. Fuck! She slams her fist on one door.

“Open up!” She calls. Silence. She’s about to start pounding again when she hears something. A yelp? It sounds like Adora. She holds her breath, desperate for confirmation, wanting it so badly it physically aches, wanting it like she’s never wanted anything before.

“Shut up!” A deep voice hisses, barely audible through the doors. “Man how much did you give her?”

“Like twice what’s normal. She must have an INSANE metabolism to still be conscious--” that’s all Catra needs to hear.

She races over to the fire ax mounted on the wall. There’s zero hesitation. She punches her fist directly through the glass, not feeling the stinging shards split her skin. She bolsters her flighty heart with the feeling of the solid wooden handle in her palms.

She ignores the two people openly staring at her as she gets to work.

The ax slams into the wood of the door with a satisfying _thock_ , the impact of it vibrating up her arms and rattling her chest. She plants one foot in the door and the head yields, coming loose. She swings again, attacking with an inhuman fervor, the aches and protests of her body fading into background noise. Her world narrows down to one task: Get to Adora. This mere mortal door never stood a chance.

Another two swings and the lock is irreparably mangled. She tosses the ax aside and sticks one clawed hand through the hole where the handle used to be and pulls it open.

Two boys stand around a bed, alarm apparent on their faces. On the bed lies Adora. Her hair is out of its ponytail, fanned out on the bedspread.  Her shirt is unbuttoned, abs on display. Her pants are twisted around her ankles.

There’s no warning. They don’t deserve it. The first boy deserves something much slower than the quick way she dashes in and RIPS her claws across his face, bright red blood splattering across the posters of scantily clad women.

One hand leaps to his face to stem the blood, the other goes up in a defensive posture to ward off an attack. Idiot. She pushes it out of the way without any struggle and grabs him by the collar of his shirt and SLAMS him up against the wall.

“Said I’d rip out your FUCKING entrails, didn’t I?” She’s not sure if the words come out right, or if he even understands them if they do. She doesn’t care. She moves one hand to rip the buttons of his shirt, presses the black points of her claws against the softness of his warm, hairy belly.

“Please, don’t,” he gurgles.

“Is that what she said? When you pulled off her clothes? How much compassion did you show her, then?” A sudden noise at the door catches her attention. She sees a shoe disappearing around the corner. The other boy. She snarls, slamming Boy A’s head back against the wall. His eyes shutter closed. He’s out. She doesn’t care if he’s unconscious or dead. She races out of the door, the claws on her back feet granting her additional traction on the carpet.

He’s halfway into a lounge, screaming bloody murder, when she pounces. She sinks her claws into his skin and he goes down in a heap.

“HELP!” He screams beneath her, yelling at the other people in the room. There’s a few sitting on a sofa, staring at them, mouths open.

“You didn’t even give her a chance to scream, did you?” she snarls, clapping her hand over his mouth. He wiggles beneath her, but it makes her claws dig in further and so he stops. “You couldn’t take it when she said no, is that it? You got her a drink, held open the door, said a few nice things...and she turned you down. Is that what happened? And then you decided that she OWED it to you. If she wouldn’t give it you were gonna TAKE it, because that’s all you fucking cockroaches know how to do, is take and take and take. You’ve never had anything taken from you, have you? Well guess what, bitch? My name is karma and I’m here to fucking collect.”

Someone on the couch gets up.

“Don’t you FUCKING interfere.” She snarls. They slowly sit back down.

She gets up and hauls the guy up by the back of the shirt. It’s so easy. It shouldn’t be so easy. He’s a limp sack of meat and she’s the butcher, here to separate him into pieces. She twists him so they’re facing.

“I should fucking gut you, slice you from nipple to navel, let everyone see the true color of your guts.” And GODS does she want to do it. She notices there are tears in his eyes. It sends a thrill running through her.

A soft cry pierces through the fog in her brain, making her ears twist. She looks over. It’s coming from his room. Adora. Adora needs her.

“If you ever even LOOK at another girl without her permission I will be back to finish my job.” She reaches down and rakes her claws along his thigh, piercing through the stupid basketball shorts and athletic pants he’s wearing. “A little reminder. In case you forget.” He bleeds profusely. She doesn’t care. She grabs him by the front of his shir, lifts him off of his feet, and throws him onto the coffee table. It splinters and collapses beneath his weight.

“NOW you can call an ambulance.” She says to the people sitting in stunned silence on the sofa. She doesn’t stop to make sure they follow through.

Back in Luke’s room, Adora is trying to sit up. Her shirt falls off her shoulder, her bra isn’t on right. There are bruises on her thighs. Her eyes unfocused. But when she sees Catra she reaches out with a trembling hand. Something deep and primal in her must recognize her. Must recognize safety and softness and compassion and _home_.

“I’m here. I’m here.” Fuck, fuck, I was too late, jesus fuck. I’m such a fuckup.

She doesn’t say that. Instead she grabs the back of Adora’s neck, presses their foreheads together, lets her soak in her presence. Adora’s muscles visibly relax.

“Catra.”

\---

**2:27 AM**

She pulls up Adora’s pants. Kisses the tear tracks on her face. Slides the sweatshirt off of her shoulders and onto Adora’s. It’s difficult to situate her arms underneath the muscular woman, but Catra absolutely refuses to let Adora walk. Adrenaline is still coursing through her veins, and it must be the only way she can lift her because good God Adora is DENSE. No wonder those sick little fucks had to spike her double.

She lifts Adora up against her chest, hands underneath her ass, like she’s a giant baby. Unlike before when she had to fight and push to get through the house, people part before her like the red sea.

Maybe it’s the girl in her arms.

Maybe it’s the blood on her face.

She doesn’t stop to ask.

Catra gets Adora into her jeep. She takes her to a hospital. The nurses try to tell Catra to wait in the lobby but Adora, who by all rights should have absolutely no spatial awareness, protests loudly whenever Catra goes too far.

She sits next to her gurney and holds her hand through everything.

The rape kit, miraculously, is negative. Catra actually cries when she receives the news. She doesn’t care how weak it makes her look. She got there in time. She got there in time.

The nurses give her some wipes to clean off the blood on her face and hands. They offer to call the cops for her but she says there’s no need. The system has failed her far too many times for Catra to place so much as a scrap of faith in it.

An hour and a half later they’re released.

\---

She gets Adora into her apartment. Fortunately Scorpia’s a heavy sleeper, so Catra doesn’t feel too bad about slamming the door shut with her foot.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” She keeps murmuring. Adora reeks of alcohol. And those. Those...she wants to call them pigs but frankly that would be more insulting to pigs than anything else. And she knows it must be in her head, because nothing happened, but she can’t shake the feeling that Aodra _smells_ like them.

She walks into the bathroom.

“How’s a hot bath sound? Hm?” She turns on the overhead light and Adora cries, burying her face in Catra’s shirt.

“Shit! Sorry! Sorry!” She flicks the light off. There’s a little night light plugged in which she turns on instead. “I’m gonna put you down, okay, baby? I’ll be right here.” She murmurs, gently sitting Adora on the seat of the toilet.

“Don’go.”

“I won’t. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, baby.” She leans over and runs the tub. Adora must be desperate for contact because she thrusts a foot against Catra’s calf, then pins her tail against the floor. Normally Catra HATES that sort of thing. But nothing about Adora is normal. Nothing about this situation is normal. Right now Catra would pluck the very stars out of the sky if that’s what Adora needed.

She makes sure that the water is warm, bordering on hot, before she turns back to her ex-girlfriend.

“I’m gonna take off your clothes now, okay?”

“Okay.” Adora nods. Then, “you, too.”

“Me, too? Want me to take off my clothes, too?”

She nods.

Puts them on equal footing, she supposes. Catra complies. She slips her sweatpants down her thin hips, lets them pool on the cold tile floor. Shucks off her tank top without a second thought.

“Okay,your turn.” It’s somewhat difficult, what with Adora being inebriated as she is, but together they manage.

“Tub time, babes.”

“Tub time...you, too.” Catra HATES baths. She doesn’t love showers but baths are a million times worse. She hates how it soaks her fur and makes her feel HEAVY. But...but, but but. For Adora, right now…? The stars

Soon they’re sitting together in the tub, stark naked, Adora’s back pressed against Catra’s front. It’s a tight fit but they manage.

“Can I kiss you?” Catra asks gently, running a washcloth up Adora’s chest.

“Kiss?” Adora murmurs, turning her head a little to look at Catra. “Y...yeah. Catra can kiss. Only Catra.” Despite herself, despite everything, she smiles.  

“Well lucky for me, I’m Catra.” She leans in and kisses the back of Adora’s head. She tenses for a fraction of a second, and then it bleeds away. Her muscles go slack. A soft sigh escapes her lips.

“Love you.” And it shouldn’t be like this, the first time they admit their love to one another, with Adora barely aware of what’s going on and surely will have no memory in the morning, when she must feeling so vulnerable, and for an action that anyone should’ve done, would’ve done, if they knew Adora like Catra knows Adora. But the words can’t be taken back now.

“I...love you too, Adora.” She says it back. How can she not?

Catra scrubs them both clean, using a measuring cup to run water over Adora’s head. She’s careful not to get her claws caught in her hair when she massages shampoo into it. She scrubs at her skin, but she’s delicate, doesn’t let it get red and angry, just a gentle pink.

Soon enough they’re dry and bundled in bed. Catra tried to help Adora into some of her old clothes she’d left here after they split, but Adora refused.

“Catra clothes.” she insisted, stubbornly, and Catra didn’t know how much of it was the drugs speaking and how much of it was just Adora. She complied anyway. Helped her into some of her own sweats and a big t-shirt.

“Spoon me.” she demands, now.

“Okay, princess.” She chuckles and presses her hips against Adora’s ass. There’s a little yip of pain. “Shit, sorry.”

“No, no, don’t go. Stay. Close. Need you close.”

“You sure?”

“Sure.” So she presses back in again, and there’s a little hiss of pain, but it eeks out of her like air from a balloon. She goes quiet. Sighs. It’s her contented sigh. Catra’s head it often enough to recognize it, though admittedly it has been a while.

“Good night, Adora.”

“Ni’, Catra.”

They fall asleep curled up in one another.

\--- 

The two boys Catra assaulted try to press charges. They both identify her from photographs. But strangely, when other party goers are asked to identify her, there is a resounding silence. Every single person insists that they never even saw her anywhere near the frat house on the night in question.

Catra and Adora don’t get back together. Not immediately. Catra insists they give it time because she doesn’t want Adora to feel like she won’t be there for her just because they’re not dating. Adora doesn’t need to lock Catra down for her to be hers. And Catra has to be sure she means it, that it’s not some lingering savior infatuation thing.

Adora waits 3 months before she asks again.

Catra says yes.

Adora never goes to a party without taking someone with her again.


End file.
